


Sandcastles in the Desert

by stefi



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, M/M, Origin Story, Weird take on the soulmates trope, maybe it's about fate, minor OC deaths, weird dreams of events to take place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stefi/pseuds/stefi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phinks's origin story before joining the Phantom Troupe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

_Dark. It's always dark. And he's taller than he is now._

_He's surrounded, but for some reason, he's not threatened. He's… comforted? At ease?_

_Happy. He's happy._

_He's surrounded by treasure and a strange arrangement of people and he's so pleased._

_So pleased it doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts. He's not cold. He's not hungry._

_He's content._

_And that's how he knows._

_He knows it's all a dream._

_And once he knows its all a dream, he wakes up._

Phinks sits up and swings his legs over the straw pile he was bedded down in. He scrubs at his eyes with his fists before crawling on hands and knees through the dirt. It's dark under the Old Man’s house, even in the day time, but it's much cooler than being inside the house, so Phinks really doesn't mind sleeping beneath it.

He pokes his head out from under the decaying, wooden stairs, then climbs up to his feet. At fourteen years old, he’s short for his age. The Old Man is a giant to him, and he vaguely remembers his mother being tall, too. Phinks really hopes he hits his growth spurt soon.

He brushes what dirt he can from his knees, then claps his hands down his arms. It’s been almost two weeks since his last bath and he's hoping the Old Man is feeling generous. Clean water is hard to come by in Meteor City, the Old Man says each time Phinks asks. He doesn't need drinking water, or even clean water. He just wants to be able to get this dirt off his body. The fleas are making a meal of him.

He walks carefully on bare feet toward the rear entrance of the Old Man’s house, mindful of broken glass and used needles. He stepped on a rusty nail one time and he remembered it taking months to heal. Phinks really doesn't want to go through that again so he watches his step, always. His hand is over the door when he hears someone inside.

“We’re not screwing around here, Karub,” the first voice says.

“We want our money,” a second one expounds.

“And I’ll have it,” the Old Man promises. “I just need a few more days.”

“You’ve got twenty-four hours to get it, and then we’ll be back,” the first voice warns.

“And if you don’t have our money…” The second voice threatens. “…you’ll be joining your wife.”

The Old Man lets out a shaky breath. Phinks’s fists clench. He doesn't dare go inside the house until he hears both men leave. He’s sneaking toward the bathroom when the floorboards creak underfoot.

“That you, boy?” The Old Man asks.

Phinks peers from around the corner at his father. Karub is a tall man with tanned skin and thinning, dirty blonde hair. His face is weathered and covered in stubble. He wears his hair slicked back in what could have been considered a pompadour if he had more of it, and perhaps once upon a time he did. The high-waisted plaid pants of his leisure suit are filthy at the knees and his shirt has been pulled open, lapels wrinkled and crooked. It looks to Phinks as if those two men roughed the Old Man up a little before he got there.

“Are you in trouble again?” Phinks asks.

“The fuck’s it matter?” The Old Man scoffs, standing up. He studies his own reflection in a cracked mirror while he talks to his son. “I’m a dead man, kid.”

Phinks says nothing because he feels nothing. No pity, no remorse… he’s not even afraid for the Old Man. “I want to have a bath,” he says instead of “I’m sorry, Papa” or “Maybe we should we leave town?” or “I’m scared.” Because he’s not. He refuses to be.

“Clean water’s hard to come by, Phinks,” he says.

“I know that,” Phinks says. Because he does. He's been told the same thing for years. If it were up to him, everyone in Meteor City would have clean water. Even the Old Man. He picks at the splintering wood in the door frame and frowns. “It doesn't need to be new water,” the boy says. “I could use the water you used on the dishes.”

“That's mine,” the Old Man challenges him and Phinks knows instantly to let this one go. It's not something he can have today, it seems.

He leaves the same way he came in, quiet and stepping carefully. Phinks knows there are ways to get what you need in Meteor City. He crawls under the house and approaches a shoebox he's been keeping there. He emerges from beneath with it clutched to his chest. Phinks knows what he needs to do.

The walk to the neighborhood’s square is a fairly short one. Phinks passes many unsavory types on his way there, but once he makes it he relaxes some. He sets the shoebox down carefully before gathering various rocks and sticks together to form a drag strip of sorts. It's a small one, about two feet long and half a foot wide. He’s divided it down the center with a piece of string and when he sits beside it on the ground, people start to look down at him.

“You a betting man?” Phinks asks a short man, no older than twenty.

“Depends on the game, kid.”

“You into racing?” Phinks prods and the man’s face lights up.

“Whatcha racing?” The man asks.

Phinks says nothing but opens the shoebox and shows the man its contents.

“Dung beetles? That's stupid.”

“You're not curious which one’s quicker?” Phinks asks.

At this point, a small crowd has formed.

Phinks spends his afternoon collecting bets and by the day’s end, he’s got 300 jenny in his pocket.

He puts his beetles back in the shoebox and on the way home, he buys himself 2 gallons of water and a lavish dinner of crusty bread and hard cheese. The shopkeep is so nice, he even gives Phinks a piece of hard, cinnamon candy. He still has more than half his money left over by the time he gets home.

He crawls under the Old Man’s house with the intent of having a bath with some of that water in the morning, and maybe buying himself some shoes. He’s lulled to sleep by the sound of his racing dung beetles scuttling about in their shoebox.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreams are back. The Old Man settles his debt.

_“If you could be anywhere in the world, where would it be?” Phinks asks in a voice that isn't his own. It sounds like him, but he doesn't remember his mouth forming the words._

_It’s dark, or dark again, and he’s sitting on grass - real, actual grass- beside a man considerably shorter than he is. His companion is dressed all in black. His hair is dark too, an inky black that blends with his surroundings, and yet it still looks soft to the touch. Phinks wants to feel it, but isn't sure if he should._

_The shorter man looks up at him and it's an invitation for Phinks to shift closer to him._

_“Hypotheticals are a waste of time,” the short man says, but his lips are quirked up into a smile, giving the impression that he might like a game of 'what ifs'. Phinks takes a moment to watch him, and his dark brows arched in amusement. The man takes a sip from a flask and passes it to Phinks, settling his weight against Phinks’ side._

_Phinks accepts it with both hands, feeling it's cool surface but unable to judge it's weight. He’s afraid he’ll drop it and embarrass himself. He's embarrassed anyway when the other man laughs softly at him._

_“It’s not so heavy now, baichi,” he says._

_Phinks feels a fluttering in his stomach, despite not understanding the last word. It sounds foreign to him, the syllables curling like twisting snakes, before warming his cheeks like a hot summer sun._

_"Where would **you** be?” the man asks._

_Phinks pretends to consider it. He already knows his answer, somehow, as if he's been waiting all along to share it. “I’m not sure,” Phinks lies, shaking the flask, testing its weight to see how much is left inside._

_His friend scoffs, amused. “You're a terrible liar." He bumps his shoulder against Phinks ribs and sighs, relaxing against him._

_Phinks takes a sip from the flask and reminds himself the other man’s lips were here seconds ago, perhaps a tongue too. Its an indirect kiss, a small seed in his mind, opening a world of what ifs. Phinks feels his cheeks heat up as he discards that trail of thought. “Guess I’ll have to work harder, then,” he says weakly. He’s nervous and he hates it._

_“There are some things people are born knowing how to do,” his companion tells him. “Lying is one of them. It’s just not in your nature, Phinks.”_

_Phinks sets the flask on the ground with more force than he intends. “Just what is in my nature, then?”_

_His friend considers it. “Well, you're certainly emotional. And rash. Consequences for any action are the farthest thing from your mind when you do anything. You're a piss poor planner…”_

_“You sure know how to make a guy feel good,” Phinks says sarcastically._

_A small, cold hand settles at his lower back. “I didn't say they were necessarily bad things,” the other man teases. He edges even closer, as if it were possible._

_“I’m failing to see anything worthwhile here,” Phinks says miserably. He doesn't know how he should be acting or what the other man expects him to do. He covers his face in his hands, wishing he would wake up._

_Thin, delicate fingers wind around his and pull his hands down. “I see plenty,” he hears it as much as he feels it. Warm breath in his ear and a cold nose pressed against his temple._

_Terrified and thrilled, Phinks opens his eyes._

Floorboards inches from his nose creak heavily. The Old Man’s moving around frantically, from the sounds of it. Phinks’ fist closes around the jenny in his pocket. It's still there.

He crawls out from under the house and goes inside, a jug of water in his hands. He places the water by the entrance to the bathroom. When the floorboards creak in the hallway, Phinks has less than seconds to hide the water behind the shower curtain.

The Old Man comes around the corner, fists raised. He only lowers them slightly when he sees that the intruder is his son. “Thought you were a burglar. Announce yourself when you're in my house.”

Phinks nods, but says nothing.

“What are you doing in here, anyway?” Karub asks.

“I was going to use the toilet,” Phinks lies.

Karub sees right through the lie and shoves the boy aside. He rips the curtain back from the tub and sees the water jug. His gnarled hands clutch it and when Phinks tries to snatch it away, the Old Man raises it over his head. “Oh no you don't,” he jeers. “This ain't for you, boy.”

“I bought it!” Phinks shouts, angry tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “It's mine.” He pulls at Karub’s shirt and makes another feeble attempt to grab for the water, but the Old Man is bigger than he is. He’s shoved to the floor, and kicked once he’s down. Hard.

“You should learn your place, kid,” Karub spits. He shoves Phinks from the room and locks him out.

He hopes the Old Man drowns in the water. Or slips on it and falls and breaks his neck. For as long as he can remember, Phinks has hated his father. It's why he sleeps under the house and not inside it. It's why he avoids the Old Man if he can help it. Things were always strained, but they worsened when Phinks’ mother died four years ago. The Old Man blames him, but Phinks knows what really happened.

He was ten then. Instead of barely scraping by, his family had it better off than other people in Meteor City. They had a house, after all. They even had running water back then. His father wasn’t involved with the mob, he had real work. Honest work, he’d say.

His mother was just a barmaid, but she was beautiful. He remembers that much about her, at least. She had long black hair she wore in thin braids all the way down to her knees. She was darker than his father, he remembers. And her eyes were the color of gold. Phinks remembers her eyes the most.

When he was 10 years old, his mother was alive. His father was ‘Papa’. He lived in the house, and not under it. It was four years and a lifetime ago. Four years ago when he stepped on the nail.

It was nothing unheard of, children stepping on sharp objects and hurting themselves. Shoes aren't something everyone in Meteor City has the luxury to afford. They're right up there with running water and eating everyday as far as extravagance goes.

Phinks was running around outside, playing with two other boys who lived nearby. Brothers, he remembers. He was chasing them and he had nearly caught up to the smaller boy when a sharp, biting pain raced through his foot and up his leg. Phinks fell to the dirt. They boys both got away.

He hopped, fell, and crawled home. He recalls tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but not falling. Not until he saw his mother.

“Oh, _habibi_ ,” she tutted. She made him sit back on the couch and elevate his leg. “This will hurt,” she warned him. She pulled the nail out and Phinks wailed. “Shh, shh… The worst is over now.”

Phinks remembers his mother wrapping his foot and setting it on a pillow. “Lie still, mama,” she had said. “I’ll be back with medicine for that wound.” She kissed his forehead and stroked his curly hair before leaving the house.

Phinks remembers lying still for his mother for a very long time. He remembers his father coming home from work. He remembers telling his father why she wasn't home. He remembers the look on his father’s face. He looked scared, then.

He recalls Karub pacing the floor, swearing to himself. He was panicking, Phinks realized. He didn't know then how far into debt his father had gotten himself, trying to provide for Phinks and his mother. He didn't know the sort of people his father had starting to associate himself with.

Phinks didn't know any of this until his mother’s body was found a block from their house. She had been beaten to death, stripped, and they had shaved her head. Her sole possession had been a vial of antibiotics.

His father went away that night.

“She was almost home.”

“She was almost safe.”

“She died so your foot wouldn't get infected.”

“This is all your fault.”

“You killed her.”

“You killed my beautiful Malika.”

“You killed your mother.”

“You're no son of mine.”

“I hate you.”

“It should have been you.”

“You don’t live here anymore.”

“Get out of my house.”

He doesn’t have a father after that, as far as either of them are concerned. Four years an orphan.

Phinks rolls his tattered sleeve up and makes a fist, ready to pound on the bathroom door when a knock at the front door distracts him. He knows it's not his house and that he's got no business answering the door, but he does anyway. It's not like the Old Man is about to.

He opens the door and two men push their way inside. The taller of the two regards Phinks while the shorter one searches the house for the Old Man. He’s pushed onto the couch his mother made him lie down on. The tall man joins the shorter and they pair drag the Old Man out into the living room.

Phinks watches as they throw Karub to the floor and begin to wail on him, demanding to know where their money is. The Old Man doesn't offer them an explanation. Phinks knows he doesn't have one. His fist tightens over the jenny in his pocket.

“Well, maybe this kid knows,” the shorter one says, advancing on Phinks. “How do you know this guy anyway, kid? This your old man?”

“Of course not,” Phinks lies, and he knows the guy doesn't believe him.

“Malika and I didn't have kids, I told you guys that,” The Old Man argues.

“He looks a lot like you,” the tall one says.

“A lot of little bastards around here do,” the Old Man counters. “Ugly little shits. You think something that came from Malika would look like that thing?”

Phinks swallows audibly.

The shorter one studies him. “I guess not.”

Phinks doesn't sigh, but he is relieved. He hears a crunching noise and sees the taller one repeatedly kicking the Old Man.

“We came for our money, Karub,” the tall one says. “Doesn't look like you’ve got it.” He kicks him again.

The shorter one joins his associate. He rolls Karub onto his stomach and rests his foot on the Old Man’s head. “Isn't not like we needed that much. What’s a hundred jenny these days, anyway?”

The tall one mulls it over, hands pinning the Old Man’s wrists behind his back. “A hundred jenny is a gallon of water. Ya know, like the one I found in the bathroom.”

Karub wriggles and screams. “It ain't mine!”

“You had our cash and you spent it, Karub,” the short one says, pressure from his foot heavier on the Old Man’s cheek. “I don't like bein’ lied to, ya know.”

“He hates it,” the taller one concurs.

Karub looks desperately to Phinks.

All Phinks can see are the last four years of Hell he’s had to endure. He might not have been responsible for his mother’s death…

“Do it,” the tall one says.

but…

“Got it,” the shorter man stomps on Karub’s head, dislocating his jaw. He then leans down and snaps his neck. The Old Man’s dead, but he's still looking to Phinks for help.

Phinks will gladly accept responsibility for his father’s death. “Can I have his water?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phinks get a job and a new place. Sort of.

_“You’re sure that’s where he is?” Phinks asks. He’s angry, desperate. His fists are clenched so hard he’s sure his fingernails will leave marks in his palms. He paces the room, eyes on the floor. It’s still dark outside. It always is when he’s older, he’s figured out. These dreams he has. They’re things that haven’t happened yet._

_It’s the smaller man who usually accompanies him in most of these dreams. He’s here with him. He’s quiet, but he nods. While his face is obscured by a tall scarf, Phinks can somehow tell that the other man is just as furious as he is. “My intel is good,” he says. “Paku double checked, too.”_

_Phinks doesn’t know who Paku is, but in the dream this information seems to calm him down some. “When can we go get him?”_

_The shorter man pulls the scarf from his face and sighs. “Danchou wants us to wait.”_

_“Wait for what?” Phinks nearly shouts. “He’s alone with them and he’s probably scared. And you know damn well that his abilities aren’t going to help him if he’s been imprisoned, Fei. He can’t use Nen if he can’t use his hands. The Kurta aren’t stupid.”_

_The man he calls ‘Fei’ raises a pale hand to placate him. “Phinks,” he says his name so softly it makes his heart ache. Phinks always wonders what the nature of his relationship with this man is. “We have to be smart about this. If we’re not careful, it could be a real massacre. Especially-“_

_“Especially if Uvo finds out, I know,” Phinks finishes for him. He starts to pace. “I just… I’ve been in Shal’s situation before and I can’t stand knowing that he’s alone and I can’t help him.”_

_Fei frowns. “Is that all?”_

_Phinks stops. “What do you mean ‘is that all’?”_

_The other man doesn’t entertain his question. He merely turns away and makes to leave the room. “If you don’t know, then forget it.”_

_“Fei!” Phinks shouts after him. He grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around. “Fei, look at me.”_

_Fei shuts his eyes and wriggles away. “Don’t touch me,” he says, voice thin. “If he means so much to you, then go save him, Phinks.”_

_“Why are you acting like this?” Phinks asks him._

_Fei shoves him hard. The physical strength the shorter man possesses surprises Phinks enough to make him stumble backward. “Fei, what the fuck-“_  
  
_The sound of the door opening distracts the pair and a tall man with a sword enters the room. “Danchou wants us downstairs.” He leaves the room as quickly as he entered it._

_The shutting of the door jars him awake._

 

 

 

“Wake up, kid,” a voice says.

Phinks sits up from the couch. He's been living in the Old Man’s house for a few days now and he wonders how he was ever able to sleep outdoors. He spends his nights in the living room, not able to bring himself to sleep on his dead father’s bed.

“What time is it?” Phinks asks.

“Time to go to work,” his visitor says. It's the shorter of the two men his father was indebted to. Phinks has learned that this man is simply called ‘Fox’. He's sure it’s not the guy’s actual name. “We’re gonna be late if you snooze any longer.”

Phinks rolls his eyes, but gets off the couch and heads into the bathroom anyway. Fox briefs him on his schedule for the day while Phinks washes his face and combs his hair.

“You've got a sit down with the boss as soon as we get there,” Fox says. “He says he wants to meet Karub’s kid.”

Phinks coats his fingers with hair gel and fixes Fox with a look. “He wasn't my father.” He begins to flatten his wild, curly hair down as he combs the gel through it, straightening it and fixing it in place.

Fox ignores Phinks’ lie. “After your sit down, he wants to show you a bit of the business. You two can talk numbers, that kinda thing.”

It all sounds too good to be true, but Phinks is desperate and hungry and his racing beetles have since escaped their cardboard prison. “Fine,” Phinks says, leaving the bathroom. “Let’s just get it over with.”

The pair traverse the alleyways of Meteor City’s neighborhoods on foot. Some passers by part readily for them when they see Phinks’ companion. Others make the trek less seamless. Phinks’ shoulders are bumped and he's pushed some along the way, but he isn't scared and he isn't in a hurry, either.

They reach a warehouse and Fox has to mutter a password in a language Phinks has never heard, then they're allowed to enter through the locked fence. Once they’re in the yard, it's a short walk under the unforgiving sun before they're inside. The warehouse is poorly lit, humid, and full of giant shipping containers and crates. The floors are cracked and uneven, stained in some places with what could only be blood.

Phinks is having second thoughts about the entire situation.

“This the kid?” An older man asks. He's dressed in an expensive suit and he's flanked by the shorter guy’s tall friend and a serious-looking woman. The tall man, Phinks has learned, is called ‘Wolf’. The woman, ‘Coyote’. Apparently, this gang has a running theme with canine aliases. The boss is simply ‘The Boss’. The name leaves no room for any sort of confusion.

“This is him,” Fox confirms and Phinks feels instant, inevitable dread creep up his spine and sink into his chest. It's hard to breathe, and for the first time in months, he’s scared.

The Boss approaches and he's much taller than Phinks originally thought. Tunnel vision sets in and it's black all around Phinks except for the thin, unforgiving strip of light The Boss walks down to approach him. “He doesn't look so tough,” The Boss says, matter of fact.

Phinks doesn't feel tough, either. His breathing is labored and even though he’s cold with fear, he's sweating bullets. What is this aura this Boss is giving off? He's so scared he can't even move. His fists clench all the same, as if he could ever hope to defend himself against four adults.

“This is Karub and Malika’s kid,” Wolf says and The Boss smirks.

“That so?” The Boss says, amused. “We knew your folks around these parts really well.”

“I don't know wh-“ Phinks starts.

“Lying don't work on me,” The Boss says. “And it didn't work for your Old Man, neither. Your mom worked in the bar and took care of the girls. Your Old Man ran book for me. When he wasn't stealing from me, anyway. Talk about a family business.” He laughs as if he's said something funny. The three thugs laugh as well.

Phinks doesn't think anything is all that amusing. “Why am I here?”

“Fox didn't tell you?” The Boss asks. Phinks says nothing. “You're here to settle your Old man’s debt, of course.”

“A hundred jenny?” Phinks asks.

The Boss laughs again and Phinks is doing his best to not get pissed off. The sheer terror he feels is helping in that regard, at least. “More like a hundred thousand,” The Boss says. “Your Old Man robbed me blind. And for what? Cheap polyester suits and fake gold chains? A loser to the last,” he spits. Phinks can't argue with him there. “You're gonna make sure I get every last jenny back with interest, kid.”

Phinks doesn't want to know how. He's seen what the orphans of Meteor City are subjected to. And he knows the scary and awful types of adults and how they exploit them. He swallows hard and draws a shaky breath. “H-how?”

“Take him downstairs, Wolf.” The Boss says. "Fox and Coyote, get him a room ready."

Before Phinks has any time to ponder what any of that means, the tall guy in the suit that helped kill his father is ushering him down a twisting iron staircase.

“Ever been in a fight, kid?” Wolf asks.

“A few,” Phinks says. He's had to fend for himself more than once, and he knows how to throw a hard punch. He's fast, too. He's also lost a few fights, so he's learned what not to do.

“You like it?” Wolf prods, pushing a set of double doors open.

Phinks shrugs. “I dunno. Winning is okay, I guess.”

“Well, you're here to do just that,” Wolf tells him, leading him down a dark corridor. It's filled with what looks to Phinks like tall dog cages. He sees that in a few of these cages, there are people inside them. He hopes they're sleeping and not dead. They go through another set of doors and Phinks’ stomach instantly turns at the smell of freshly spilled blood.

It's loud and there are men screaming around themselves in a circle. They all have cash clutched in their hands. In the center of the commotion, two men are beating one another mercilessly. Phinks can hear it each time a punch lands. A hard, slick noise each time a fist connects with sweaty, bloodied skin. Both men look tired. Both look finished. When the final punch lands, both men fall, but only one is still alive.

The reaction from the spectators is mixed, some men laugh, tearing cash from the others’ hands. A few fists fly and a fight even breaks out, but once Wolf fires his gun in the air, everyone settles down.

“You bastards know better than that,” Wolf warns. “The only fights in here are sanctioned ones.” He holsters his pistol and grabs the two men from the crowd who were fighting. He snatches their cash from their hands and whistles. Coyotes and Fox appear from the opposite end of the room and they each lead one of the men away. Both men are screaming. “They’ll be next,” Wolf says, grinning.

Phinks feels sick. “I'm going to be doing this?”

“You don't wanna go work with the girls, do you?” Wolf asks.

Phinks knows what the girls have to do. He shakes his head quickly. “No.”

“Heh,” Wolf laughs. “Thought so.” He leads Phinks back out of the room from the way they came. “Each time it's your turn, either Coyote or me will come get you.” They push past a et of doors and head down the corridor with all the cages. “Fox set you up real nice,” Wolf says and they stop in front of one of the cells. He pushes the barred door open and shoves Phinks inside. “This is your new place. If you fight your way out and make it upstairs, you’ll become an earner. Like Fox and me. Make enough and you’ll be raised to bodyguard. Like Coyote.”

“What if I can't do any of that?” Phinks asks, dreading the answer to come.

Wolf considers it. “Well, you’ll die down here, I guess.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and heads for the stairs, whistling as he saunters off.

Phinks doesn't want to cry, but he does fall to his knees, his hands clutched in fists around the cold bars. Leave it to the Old Man to screw him over, even while he’s in pieces in the burn pile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phinks meets several members of the Phantom Troupe, including Feitan

_“So it has a name, then” a beautiful man with a smooth voice assumes._

_“All the cool hatsus do,” Phinks says, nervous. Embarrassed a little. Anxious, mostly._

_It's dark in the room, of course, but the other person with him is reclined among strategically placed candles. There are books everywhere and the candles seem like a bad idea to him, but Phinks knows better than to voice his concern. The other man is well aware, he's sure._

_“Care to share it with me, Phinks?” The man asks. He’s tall, though not nearly as tall as Phinks is. He's dressed dramatically- a long, black coat adorned with feathers at the collar and cuffs. His forehead has a cross tattooed in purple ink and strange earrings decorate his ears. He's aware he's attractive, Phinks knows. Each movement the other man makes oozes purpose._

_“Rippler Cyclotron,” Phinks says. “Because when I rotate my arm, it creates a magnetic field and atomic particles-“_

_The beautiful man raises a pale hand. “I know what a cyclotron is, Phinks.”_

_Phinks frowns for a moment._

_“It's a good name. And a fantastic hatsu,” he assures him. “It’ll serve the Spider well.”_

_“I hope so, danchou ” Phinks says eagerly._

_“I know so,” he tells Phinks, confident._

_Phinks is beyond pleased. Utterly elated, more like._

_“You've shown the others?”_

_Phinks nods. “I have.”_

_“And you're not worried about anyone in the Spider using it against you or finding a way to exploit its weakness?” The man Phinks calls ‘danchou’ asks._

_“I’m not afraid,” Phinks says. “You told me we reject no one. And I’d never take anything from us.”_

_Danchou smiles so wide that his eyes close. Phinks swears he's found his God. “Where would you like your tattoo, Phinks?”_

 

 

It’s been three years and Phinks fought his way out of the pit in two months. He out-earned Fox and Wolf combined within the first year he rose their their rank. And aside from Coyote, Phinks is The Boss’ most trusted bodyguard. He’s in a hurry. He’s not sure for what, but each time he dreams of this ‘other life’, his future self, he can't wait to get out of Meteor City.

He's so much taller now, so much stronger. At seventeen, he's like a dog expecting its owner home at any moment. Each time the warehouse doors open and The Boss welcomes a new member or victim (sometimes the same person is both, as Phinks was), Phinks is ready to see a not-yet familiar, yet familiar face. Three years of dreaming about people you can't wait to meet is a long time.

Phinks is so ready for something to happen, that when it finally does, he's not prepared for it. He’s not ready at all.

He barges into The Boss’ bedroom when he hears the man shouting his name, screaming for help. He doesn't realize he's too late until he sees the man splayed on the bed, sliced open with a surgeon’s precision. His insides are held together with shining, hair-thin wires. He’s shackled and wailing pathetically for Phinks to help him.

Phinks scans the room, once inside. Coyote is there. She’s always with The Boss. She's sat beside the bed, dressed in a smart pencil skirt and blazer. Sensible flats are on her feet. She removes her hand from The Boss’ forearm and smiles, satisfied.

Confused, Phinks looks from Coyote to The Boss. “Coyote, what happened?”

The blonde woman shakes her head. “We’re past codenames at this point, Jackal,” she tells Phinks. “I dare say we’re about to become a whole lot closer.” Coyote slides her hand up his chest and winds it around his neck. She regards him sweetly. When her eyes close, she inhales sharply.

Coyote falls backward onto the bed and Phinks approaches her, offering a hand to help her up. “Are you alright?” He asks her.

Coyote laughs lightly. “Our boss is tied to a bed with his organs on display and you're worried about me tripping myself?”

Phinks nods to The Boss. “Fuck that guy,” he spits. “Are you okay? What was that all about, with the touching and us getting closer?” His fists clench. “I ain't like that, ‘Yotie, and you know it.”

Coyote smiles, almost maternal. “You'll fit right in, Phinks. Machi,” she says. She lifts her hand and the thin wires holding The Boss together snap apart. The man dies painfully behind Coyote. She nods to two figures in the corner of the room and they walk into the lamplight.

One is a pink-haired woman. She's wearing a purple track suit and a severe expression on her face. On one of her wrists is a pin cushion with sewing needles protruding from it.

Phinks already knows who the other is. A pale man, much shorter than he is, dressed all in black. His long hair is inky and shiny, obscuring the parts of his face that aren't under the purple scarf wrapped around the lower half of it. On his shoulder is a red, closed umbrella.

Phinks feels as though he can hear his own heart hammering through his chest, up his throat and out his ears. Its so loud, he nearly misses the introductions.

“Phinks, meet Machi,” Coyote motions to the pink-haired girl, “and Feitan.” She gestures to the man Phinks has been dreaming of since he was fourteen. Coyote’s smile is all-too knowing. She’s onto him and Phinks isn't sure how.

“C-Coyote,” Phinks sputters at the blonde woman. “What-“

She holds her hands up and shakes her head, smiling. “Please, call me Pakunoda. Or just Paku,” she simplifies.

Phinks is so blind-sided he can only nod.

“You’re going to go downstairs,’’ Paku says slowly.

He hates it down there. Coyote—no, Paku knows that.

“We’re going to free everyone,” she furthers. “And then, you're going to come home with us.”

Phinks knows he should feel suspicious. He knows he should, but he doesn't. He can’t. He's heard Pakunoda and Machi’s names countless times before in dreams. And Feitan. Phinks has already sorted how he feels about him. If the home Paku is referring to is the one Phinks thinks it is, then he is more than prepared to go with her, with them.

Pakunoda rises from the bed and brushes imagined dirt from her forearms and shoulders. “Machi and I will let the girls go. Phinks, show Feitan where they keep everyone downstairs. We’ll meet back by the gate outside,” she instructs them, leaving no room for argument. “If anyone tries to stop you, kill them.”

Feitan’s eyes crinkle upward at that, not that Phinks is staring at him.

“I’ll lead the way,” Phinks says to him, leaving the gruesome scene without a backwards glance. He guides Feitan down a short corridor, then down the spiral iron staircase. “These stairs are kinda rusty, so watch your step. There’s holes all over ‘em.”

Feitan makes a soft noise of acknowledgement, following a short distance behind the blond.

“I fought down here for a couple months before I made it upstairs,” Phinks says. “Most guys down here don't make it out alive. I had nightmares every night I wasn't dreaming about-“

He hears a sigh behind him. “If you're going to talk about how you have dreams of me, I’ll get this out of the way now. I have them, too.” Feitan says quietly.

Phinks stops and turns to face him. “You do?”

Feitan shrugs. “Everyone does. People entertain this stupid notion of fated meetings, of soul mates. I've read a lot on the subject. In the end, it's not anything I believe in.”

Phinks blushes. Oh God. Everyone has the dreams he does about Feitan? “Wait, so you’ve had dreams about me? Like, of us?”

Feitan rolls his eyes. “I do, but they don't mean anything.”

Phinks catches himself frowning. “You don't think so?” He asks. He's embarrassed and maybe a little (ok, a lot) disappointed. “So you don't believe in fate, then?”

“This is a weird conversation to have with someone you've just met,” Feitan remarks. “Especially considering our present situation. Wouldn't you think?”

Phinks shrugs, then turns around to press forward into the corridor that houses all the cages the fighters were kept in. “I dunno,” he hazards a glance over his shoulder. “Not if fate’s real, right?”

“It’s not, idiot,” Feitan argues.

It's an insult, but it doesn't feel like one. It feels like they've had this conversation before, like they've had a lot of conversations before. It should feel strange, talking with such familiarity with someone he's just met, but to Phinks it's like the most natural thing in the world.

“We’ll see,” Phinks says.

“You're persistent,” Feitan comments.

“Probably,” Phinks replies, hands on the double doors. He looks down some at Feitan. “Hey, be careful letting these guys out, not everyone's gonna be so grateful.”

Feitan looks wholly unbothered. “I can handle myself.” He taps his umbrella on the door. “Go ahead.”

Phinks pushes the doors open and leads Feitan to the end of the line of cages. As they walk past, men and boys are screaming and cursing at them. Mostly at Phinks.

“You’ve really upset these guys,” Feitan says dryly.

“I was in charge of them for a while,” Phinks says, disgusted by them. “I've had to rough a few up,” he explains further. “The ones I didn't kill, anyway.”

Feitan brightens at that, if that were possible. “How many have you killed?”

“Lots,” Phinks says simply, grabbing a set of keys from the wall.

The shorter man taps his umbrella on the floor, impatient. “How many do you think we’ll have to put down?”

Phinks shoves a key into the lock of the first door. “As many as we have to,” he says, turning the lock. Phinks swings the door open and steps aside.

A man cowering in the corner of the cell sprints toward Phinks. The blond side steps him and shoves him toward Feitan. The man stumbles forward, screaming, then he stops suddenly. He looks down at his chest to discover the top of Feitan’s umbrella buried in it.

Feitan shakes his umbrella and the man slides off of it. “That's one for me,” the noirette sounds pleased.

“He attacked me,” Phinks complains.

“I killed him, though.”

Phinks’ eyes narrow. “I see how we’re gonna play this,” he twirls the keys on his finger.

Cage after cage is unlocked and more often than not, they’re attacked. Phinks snaps his victims’ necks with frightening speed while Feitan is merciless with his umbrella. By the end of things, only a handful of people have fled upstairs and out of the warehouse.

Satisfied, Phinks cleans his hands off with a handkerchief from his pocket. Feitan doesn't appear to be bothered by the blood staining his clothes and hands. He merely closes his umbrella after shaking the blood from it.

“Final count?” Phinks asks him.

“I lost track,” Feitan admits. He wipes at the sweat on his brow, staining it with his victims’ blood.

Phinks takes out his handkerchief again and approaches Feitan with it. “Here, don't move,” he says, taking the shorter man’s jaw into his hand. He turns Feitan’s face slightly before wiping the blood from his face. “You had a little… yeah. Anyway, it's gone now.”

Feitan’s cheeks color faintly. He pulls his scarf up high, just under his eyes and mumbles a half-hearted “thank you,” as he walks past Phinks to head back up to the surface.

Pakunoda is there with Machi, a small group of girls and women with them. Paku is shoving cash into their hands while Machi looks on, seemingly disinterested. The women are crying and clutching the cash to their chests, whispered “thank you”s and grateful sobs come from the girls.

“Man,” Phinks remarks, closing in on them. “I had it rough, but I can't imagine.”

“So don't,” Feitan says simply. “Doesn't matter now, anyway.”

“Such a nihilist,” the blond teases.

“Not really,” Feitan says. “It's pointless to dwell on things you can't change.”

“Like our dreams?” Phinks prods.

“I told you,” Feitan says, rollIng his eyes. “I don't believe in that shit.”

Phinks hums.

He’ll make Feitan believe them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreams stop. Phinks and Feitan have a heart to heart.

  
They've stopped.

It's been almost a year and he hasn't had a single dream.

Not of Feitan, or of anyone else in the Phantom Troupe, for that matter. Not since meeting them. He’s relieved, and maybe a little disappointed. He has nothing to look forward to with his evenings. No new puzzle piece to figure out, no new name to learn. He feels he's been cheated of the vague foresight he had, though he never knew what to do with it.

Pakunoda notices he hasn't been sleeping. She scolds him lightly. “I don't want you asleep on a job because you were up all night mooning over Feitan.” So sensitive. So subtle.

Phinks sits up, rigid. He glances around to make sure no one else heard. Only Kortopi. And he never told anyone anything. “Paku, what the fuck,” he whispers.

She sits on the arm of the chair he's occupying, then pets his knee fondly. “Man of your dreams not all you thought he’d be?”

“You're not funny at all,” he grouses. She’s right and he hates her for it. “We get along great, and maybe we’re friends, I dunno… If I bring up the dreams, he's either dismissive or teasing, or straight up ignoring me.”

“I have an idea,” she suggests.

Phinks is wary. Paku never usually offers her help unless it benefits danchou or the Spider. Right now it couldn't possibly benefit danchou. They’ve been spread out, separated for a week now.

Shalnark, Uvogin, Nobunaga, and Machi were living somewhere together. Franklin and Bonolenov, he had no idea where they went. Hisoka insisted on striking off on his own. Fine by them. No one particularly cared for him. Chrollo went into hiding, as he does in times of tension.

Phinks has been sharing a house with Pakunoda, Feitan, and Kortopi. It's a strange dynamic in the shared space, but they've been making it work.

“So tell me this idea of yours,” he says bitterly.

“When I met my person,” Paku starts, keeping it vague, “They reacted much in the same way Feitan has. Yes, they had the same dreams, but they didn't really subscribe to why or even what the dreams meant.”

“Heh, is your person Feitan, too?” Phinks jokes miserably.

Paku frowns.

“…So what did you do?” He asks.

“I was persistent… But persistence will likely annoy Feitan and drive him off,” Paku says. “Lucky for me, Machi is smarter than Feitan is.”

“Machi, as in _our_ Machi?” Phinks asks, stunned. He figured Paku always had a thing with Chrollo, but Machi? What unexpected information.

“Machi, as in _my_  Machi,” Paku corrects him.

"So what should I do?"  
  
Paku smiles. "I'm going to give fate a friendly little shove for you. Do what you can with the opportunity presented to you."  
  
"Thanks, but why would you do this for me?" Phinks asks.  
  
"Call me a romantic," Paku says before standing up. She ruffles his hair before walking away. She opens her phone and begins dialing.

That evening when Phinks settles down and heads to the room he's been using for a bedroom, he's shocked to see Feitan in there.

“Kortopi kick you out?” Phinks asks him.

Feitan is reclined at the head of the bed with a pile of books. He doesn't look up while he explains what he's doing there. “Bonolenov and Franklin are on their way. I never room with either of them. Franklin snores and Bono is kind of a creep. Kortopi doesn't seem to mind them.” He turns the page in his book. “Paku offered to let me stay in her room, but I'd rather not invade her privacy.”

“The couch isn’t good enough for you?” Phinks asks. He unzips his jacket and throws it over the back of the footboard.

“No,” Feitan replies. He licks his finger and turns another page he's reading.

“Well, I'm not sleeping out there,” Phinks says. He pulls his pants off quickly, stripped down to boxers and a t-shirt. The pants join his jacket.

Feitan blushes some, but won't look up. “No one’s suggesting you do.”

Phinks stretches his arms over his head and rises to his toes. “Good,” he growls through his stretch. “Because this is my room and you ain't kicking me out.” He stacks Feitan’s books and moves them onto the table beside the bed.

“What are you doing?” Feitan asks him, snapping his book shut and sitting up.

“What does it look like? I’m coming to bed.” Phinks pulls the blankets back and climbs beneath them. He flops onto his back and flings his arms over his head. His legs spread out, feet touching the footboard. He’s a giant, tan starfish.

“Are you quite finished?” Feitan asks.

“Probably,” Phinks says, smirking.

Feitan frowns and reclines back into the pillows with his book. Phinks’ fingers brush his hair.

“Sorry,” the blond says, moving his hand away. “Didn't realize-“

“It's fine,” Feitan says, refusing to meet his eyes. He pulls his book closer to his face and reads the same paragraph four times.

Phinks shifts on the bed again and the entire thing shakes. He's on his side, facing Feitan. Sleepy, golden eyes take in the noirette’s face.

“You're staring,” Feitan says, ears turning red.

“Sorry,” Phinks says lamely. “You're just…”

“Please don't.”

“…really pretty.”

Feitan blushes and slams his book shut. “Flowers are pretty, the sky is pretty. I am _not_ pretty.” He picks his book up and it lands on the table beside the bed with a thud. “And you suck at flirting.”

Phinks’ jaw drops in surprise. “I am being honest, not flirting.”

Feitan folds his arms across his chest. “Well, keep your honesty to yourself.”

Phinks sighs, taking in Feitan’s features. He really is pretty, he can't help it. The soft, black hair, the pale skin. Long, thin eyebrows that always give away his expression, even while wearing the scarf over his face. He’s dreamed about Feitan for years and now he's in his bed and Phinks is doing his very best to contain his excitement.

“I stopped having the dreams,” Feitan says. He sits up and pulls his boots off.

Phinks only watches. He didn't want to bring up the dreams after what Paku told him, but if Feitan brings them up… that shouldn’t count, right?

“Me too,” Phinks tells him. “I stopped having them the day I met you. I don't really know what it means or why, but… It just stopped happening.”

“I’ve researched it some,” Feitan explains. He reaches under his robe and shimmies out of his pants. “Apparently, they're supposed to stop once you meet the other person.” He climbs back onto the bed and burrows his way under the blankets. Their legs brush. Feitan either doesn't notice or doesn't mind it.

“I don't understand,” Phinks says quietly.

Feitan shakes his head, then turns on his side to face Phinks. His knee rests on Phinks’ thigh and there's no way that's unintentional. “I don't either.”

Phinks’ heart hammers in his chest and he swears he can hear it in his ears. He licks his lips. “Look, Fei, I—“

“I don't want to tiptoe around this, so I’ll just say it,” Feitan interrupts him. “I think the dreams are bullshit. There’s no fate, there’s no such thing as soulmates, and I don't really believe in love at first sight… or whatever this stupid circumstance is.”

Phinks frowns and his stomach feels heavy. He pulls his knee out from under Feitan's, then he rolls on his back to stare at the ceiling. He doesn't want to admit that the dreams Feitan doesn't believe in are what kept him going for four years. While he was killing his way out of the fighting pits. While he was breaking limbs in the name of unpaid debts to a thug he hated. Dreaming about Feitan drove him to carve his way into a new family and a real home with these people.

They can't agree on this and no amount of meddling from Pakunoda is going to help him.

“But,” Feitan continues and Phinks feels his hand on his chest. Feitan inches closer to him until his face is hovering over Phinks’. “I have to admit that I'm curious to see how things between you and I develop.”

Phinks feels heat blossom in his chest and it creeps up his neck. It's easily ten degrees warmer in the room. “Are you—“

Feitan smiles faintly. “Your persistence has been,” he searches for the correct word. “Endearing. And while I’ve seen things in my dreams that suggest you to be a very…” he pauses for a moment and Phinks swears Feitan is blushing, “…competent lover, I’d prefer we take things slowly.”

“So you like me?” Phinks asks because he needs to be sure. Needs to hear it and not have it be a dream.

Feitan considers it. “Don’t know.” He lies back on the pillows and stares hard at the ceiling, as if it has a script for him to recite from. “I may feel like I know you, but I don't. Not in _that_ way, anyway.”

Phinks sits up to turn his lamp off. “What about Dream-Me? You like him?”

Feitan almost-laughs softly. “He's got his charms, I suppose. What about Dream- _Me_?”

“He's kind of a dick,” Phinks teases.

“Not untrue,” Feitan admits. He turns his head to look at Phinks.

The blond is staring at him again. “I’ve liked Dream-You for a long time, though,” Phinks says lowly. He lifts a hand to push some hair behind Feitan’s ear. The other man doesn't flinch or move away and Phinks is sure his heart is going to jump out of his mouth at any second. “Can I kiss you, Fei?”

Feitan licks his lips, seemingly hesitant. “Dream-You doesn't stop at kissing,” he suggests. He scoots closer to Phinks anyway.

Phinks brushes a thumb over Feitan’s cheekbone. “This is real, though.” His words hold two meanings and he knows Feitan isn't so naïve to miss them. He closes the distance between them and presses his lips to Feitan’s. It's brief and soft and when Phinks pulls away he sighs, content.

When Phinks rolls back onto his back, Feitan climbs on top of him, straddling his waist. “Fei--“

“I lied,” Feitan breathes, lowering his mouth to Phinks’. He kisses him with urgency. He’s about to climb off when Phinks’ hands grab his waist and pull him tighter, closer. The blond’s mouth travels up his jaw, toward his ear.

“Lied about what?” Phinks whispers, his grip on Feitan’s hips eases minutely.

“ _I’m_ the one who doesn't stop at kissing,” Feitan admits, ducking his head down to kiss Phinks’ lips again. He holds the blond’s face in his hands and slides his mouth to better his angle. Phinks sighs under him and Feitan seizes the chance to brush his tongue across Phinks’ lips. He moans softly when Phinks’ tongue meets his own.

“You don't want a proper date first?” Phinks gasps when Feitan rolls his hips down against him.

“No,” Feitan answers him, tearing the sheets away. He grabs the bottom of his robe. He rips it from his body to let it join the sheets. “Just you,” he pants as he tugs at the hem of Phinks’ shirt.

The blond doesn't need any further instruction. He sits up and pulls the offending article overhead, then wraps his arms around Feitan’s lithe body. “God, you're cold,” Phinks complains, laying him down. He hovers over Feitan’s form to kiss him.

Feitan grabs the back of Phinks’ head, fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Then warm me up, _baichi_ ,” Feitan dares him before their mouths crash together desperately.

Phinks has heard that strange, foreign word so many times from Feitan’s mouth. He wants to know its meaning, but always forgets to ask. In this moment, he finds that he truly doesn't give a single fuck what it means when it's clear Feitan uses that word exclusively for him.

 

 

In the morning, Pakunoda and Phinks head into town to get supplies. She’s not subtle about wanting to hear the outcome of his evening. The moment they’re out the door, she asks Phinks “Did it work?”

“Did what work?” Phinks asks, hands shoved into his pockets. He's looking anywhere but at her.

“Feitan’s relocation,” she clarifies. “Did it help you two come to your senses?”

Phinks shrugs. “We talked about some stuff, I guess.”

“Didn't sound like talking from my room,” she teases him.

“Sh-Shut up!” 


	6. Chapter 6

The job was easier than expected. What should have taken two weeks between the actual job itself and travel was finished in half the time. Sometimes having a target who was constantly on the move could be a good thing. Who knew?

Phinks parts ways with Shalnark and Uvogin, then heads back to the same safe house he’s been sharing with Feitan, Machi, and Pakunoda. It’s midday and Phinks is ready for a shower and bed and some of Feitan’s sorely missed company. This job was their first time apart since meeting and the unfamiliar ache in Phinks’ chest has been unbearable.

He’s half way up the stairs to the bedroom he’s been using when he hears Feitan talking softly to Machi.

“Is this the first time you’ve been apart?” She asks.

“The only time since meeting,” he responds.

Machi sighs. “Yeah, it's weird, isn't it?”

“It's annoying, but at least it's been quiet.” Feitan admits. “Does it go away?”

“Worse. It becomes more and more acute each time you're apart.” Machi answers.

“Pathetic,” Feitan complains. “I didn't ask for this.”

“No one does,” Machi says, sounding contemplative. “Would you change it, though?”

“Of course,” Feitan says all too easily. “I’m always distracted, worrying about how he's faring instead of focusing on what I need to be doing.”

“You adjust,” she assures him. “I did with Paku.”

“I don't want to adjust,” Feitan argues. “This is inconvenient. And he's got completely opposing feelings on this entire arrangement.”

“Are there any redeeming factors?” Machi asks.

“Not to get too personal here,” Feitan starts. “But, the, uh…”

“The sex is phenomenal, isn't it?” Machi asks. “It's almost as if you get some sort of high afterward?”

“Right,” Feitan admits quietly. He's embarrassed.

“I’ve been with people before Pakunoda, and with her it's different. Even bad sex is incredible… Not that we have bad sex, but-“

“I get your meaning,” Feitan cuts her off.

Machi sighs. “I wish she was home.”

“Ugh,” Feitan grouses.

“You don't feel the same?” Machi asks.

“About Paku?” Feitan stalls.

“No, idiot, about Phinks. You don't miss him?” She prods.

“Not exactly,” Feitan says. “This chest ache is annoying, but he's annoying too.”

Machi laughs lightly at that.

“I’m serious,” Feitan expounds. “He’s always looking at me with this… this _look_. And he’s always trying to touch me. Not sexually or anything… Okay, well, sometimes sexually, but he's always got to have his hand on my knee or be touching my hand and it's just... I'm not used to being touched all the time. It's annoying.”

Phinks frowns. He had no clue Feitan feels this way. Looking back, he supposes he has been smothering him a little. He can't help himself around the Transmuter. It feels strange to Phinks that Feitan never brought this up. He thought they communicated things fairly well. If this isn't the case, what else is Feitan keeping from him?

He walks past Machi’s room and nods at the pair sitting on the floor with a deck of cards between them. “M’home,” he mutters to them before heading to his room. He collapses on the bed and buries his face in the pillows, breathing in nothing but Feitan.

Funny.

For a guy who insisted on having his own room at this hideout, it sure smells like Feitan's been sleeping in Phinks’ bed every night he’s been gone. Phinks rolls onto his back and glares at the peeling paint on ceiling. He kicks his shoes off and tosses his jacket to the corner of the room. Stupid little jerk and his mixed signals. They’ve been sleeping together for months, but Feitan never gives him more than that.

Phinks has laid himself bare for the guy and put everything out there for him. Showing Feitan that kind of vulnerability should have counted for something, right? He wants to punch himself. How selfish and stupid to expect anything back in kind. Why should he feel entitled? And besides, Feitan made it clear the day they met he didn’t believe in any of the dreams or what they meant.

Phinks rolls onto his side and glares at the empty side of the bed. That tiny asshole and his soft hair and kissable lips and cold fucking feet. If he hated Phinks’ attention, then why did he keep coming into his room at night? If he hated Phinks so much, why did they spend just as many nights just lying together as they had spent fucking? Phinks punches the bed and sits up. He’s too mad to be tired now. He wants to run. Or hit something. Or both. He puts his shoes back on and pushes his way past Feitan on his way down the stairs and outside. The smaller man looks like he wants to say something, but Phinks ignores him. He’s heard enough, anyway. The door slams behind him on his way out.

Phinks starts his run toward Meteor City. It's familiar, this route. The road is just on the outskirts of the city and Phinks figures it's a good two miles before he's in his old neighborhood. He takes a breather by his old house. This is where the dreams started. Where he helped have his father killed. Where he began on his path to the Phantom Troupe. The house looks so much smaller now that he's an adult. He squats to stretch and wonders how he ever fit under the house, let alone how he lived under it.

He continues to run, past the market square, past the warehouse, until he's on the complete other side of Meteor City. He figures he's been gone for hours at this point since it's starting to get dark. It's the desert, so regardless of how hot it may get during the day, the nights are frigid. Phinks finds himself wishing he remembered his jacket. It’s a ways back to the safe house.

“Whatever,” he says to himself, miserable. He sits in the sand and brushes the bits that stick to his sweaty arms. It’s nice, being alone for a moment. The ache in his chest isn't any better than it was than when he was in York New with Shal and Uvo and for a moment he wishes he’d never met Feitan.

He can deal with not having ever met him. At least he could continue to dream about him. Knowing the other man and hurting like this can’t be worth it. Hearing how Feitan felt… Phinks hates himself a little. He shouldn't have been so open and earnest. Not if it meant being rejected like this. Why didn't Feitan ever say any of this to him? Fucking coward.

He kicks his shoes off and peels off his socks to sink his toes into the sand, recalling what life was like before shoes. He doesn't sleep in the dirt anymore. He eats everyday. He’s got a roof over his head instead of a floor. He lies back in the sand and sees Feitan bending over him, hands shoved in his pockets, face hidden behind his scarf.

Phinks sighs. “What do you want?”

Feitan pulls his scarf down. “Not gonna kiss me ‘hello’, _baichi_?”

Phinks smirks, bitter. “Didn't wanna annoy you.”

Feitan rolls his eyes and sits behind Phinks, pulling the blond’s head into his lap. “I knew you were listening.” He winds his fingers through Phinks’ sweaty hair, brushing the curled ends of it. He looks softer, less threatening when his hair isn’t slicked back like some thug. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Phinks groans, dreading what’s to come. “Can it wait for a minute?” He’s enjoying the contact, but he can't admit it. He rolls onto his stomach and wraps his arms around Feitan’s waist. He presses his cheek to Feitan’s thigh as he stares out at the expanse of desert in front of them. “I just want to be quiet for a little bit if that's okay.”

Feitan's hand is back in his hair. “Sure,” he says. He cards fingers through the messy blond mass, pushing it down and up and smoothing it back, only to push it forward. His nails scrape lightly against Phinks’ scalp and the Enhancer, for all his posturing and image-consciousness, is reduced to a content pet in his lap. When he figures Phinks has had his moment, Feitan speaks.

“We’re inevitable,” he says, finally. “I don't understand it and I’ve tried to resist it. I've fought it, fought you. I’m tired.”

“Your defeat has me swooning,” Phinks says dryly.

“I’m not done. Shut up,” Feitan says, but his voice is soft. Quiet. “It took your being gone for a week for me to realize that I actually enjoy your company. And I might have missed you, I-”

“You slept in my bed the entire time,” Phinks tells him. It's an accusation, but not really.

“It smelled like you,” Feitan admits. “Anyway, I talked to Machi about it. She and Paku started off somewhat bumpy as well. She warned me to not take as long as she did to realize.”

“Realize what?” Phinks asks, looking up at Feitan.

Feitan blushes. “I’m not going to say it, so don't bother.”

Phinks sits up and pulls Feitan against him. “Dude, you _love_ me,” he says, half-laughing.

“Shut up,” Feitan frowns and looks away.

Phinks pulls Feitan into his lap and presses their foreheads together. “You do! You fucking love me,” he nuzzles his nose against Feitan’s and the smaller man frowns, but puts his arms around him anyway.

The abrupt brightening of Phinks’ demeanor seems to mildly endear Feitan. “Maybe a little,” he teases before kissing him.


End file.
